Not here. Where the fuck is she?
I turned back to the doors, but they were closed, now. Francesca stood in front of them, and she swept her hands down her curves, over the glittery silver dress I hadn’t noticed before. “Finally,” she said, “we’re alone.”
26
Hazel
I wasn’t a damsel in distress, but holy crap, where was Damien?
“What do you think?” Mortimer asked, swirling his cognac glass and eyeing me over the rim. He held a cigar in his other hand and puffed on it occasionally, releasing a cloud of smoke into the atmosphere.
He’d taken me to a private bar in the hotel, one where no one would hear me scream. Apart from the bartenders. And the two other groups of folks sitting in the leather-backed chairs in darkened corners of the room.
Then again, they were probably into torture. Why else would anyone suck on cigars or spend time with people like this man? He couldn’t look at me without baring his teeth, like he was ready to go for the jugular.
“Miss McCutcheon?”
I lifted my cognac glass and took a sip of the fiery liquid. Burning runnels trickled down my throat, but I forced a smile. “It’s great. Uh… smooth.”
Mortimer grunted, and I wasn’t sure whether it was in approval or not.
Not that I should’ve cared, but impressing Damien’s father was on the to-do list if we wanted to pull off the whole fiancé deal. And If I wanted to get the payout that would ultimately change everything.
Be nice. Remember the café. Dad’s hospital bills. The opportunity to… help Kara.
How I could help my sister was another question I didn’t have answers for at this point. She needed an intervention.
“We should probably get back to the event,” I said, setting aside the hellish liquid. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to miss all the, uh, speeches?”
“Those speeches bore me,” Mortimer replied, swirling the cognac in his glass. “But I’m not bored by the idea that my son has managed to attract a woman to marry him. How do you really feel about Damien, Miss McCutcheon?”
“Are you accusing me of being a gold digger again? Because I’m not about that.” I inched to the edge of my too comfy armchair. Any excuse to get out of here. Mortimer made the hair on the back of neck stand on end.
“If that’s what you are, I’d like to know now. It wouldn’t change much other than the pre-nup you’ll have to sign,” Mortimer laughed.
“No. I’m not interested in Damien for his money.” Technically a lie. His money was why we’d shaken hands in the first place. But if this was real? What then?
I had to put myself in the shoes of a… me if Damien and I had legitimately cared for each other.
“Then why?”
“Because I love him,” I replied, and my stomach flipped nervously.
“Why?”
Mortimer sounded like an adult version of an annoying six-year-old who had questions about everything. “Because he’s mine,” I replied, searching for something.
“Damien is a possession to you? An object?”
“Not what I meant,” I said. “He’s… like me. The other half of me, if that makes sense. He’s—I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Try.”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek.
Just do it. The sooner you sate this man’s weird appetite, the sooner you can get out of here.
“I’m cool, and he’s hot. I’m smooth, and he’s rough. We meet each other halfway.”
“That means nothing to me.”
“Good thing it doesn’t have to mean anything to you, Mr. Woods,” I replied, stiffly. “When your opinion about my relationships matter, hell will freeze over.”
“Feisty.” Mortimer chuckled and took a sip of cognac. “Forgive me, Miss McCutcheon. I come from a world where love and marriage are bargaining chips. There’s no sense in emotionally investing in someone when all they’re investing in is your pocket.”
“So you don’t believe in love.”
“Correct,” he replied, leaning forward so that the leather squeaked. “In the real world, not the fantasy, ‘hot and cold, he completes me world,’ love is nothing but a chemical reaction in the brain aimed at forcing procreation for the survival of the species. And when those chemicals fade… well, you’re left with ex-wives, unwanted children, and expensive lawyer’s fees.”
What a delightful human being. “I don’t believe that,” I said, firmly. “I grew up in a loving household. My mother and father were happy. I know love is real because I saw it firsthand.” I knew it was real, but I knew it wasn’t for me too.
“You were poor.” He flicked his fingers, dismissively. “That was all your parents had. Throw in some money and you can bet that your lovely little home life would’ve been exposed for what it was. A farce.”
“Fuck you,” I said.
“Careful, dear.” A dangerous glint appeared in those steely blue eyes. “Careful. Don’t take your defiance too far. It becomes less intriguing and more of a hindrance.”
I rose from the armchair, my hand knocking my cognac glass over and spilling the overpriced drink. “You don’t know me or my family,” I said. “Mr. Woods, you don’t even know your own sons. Take a look in the mirror before you judge me and mine.” I walked for the exit.
“He’ll only break your heart,” Mortimer called.
What was his deal? Did he want Damien to get married and take over the business or not? What was he playing at? This had to be some failed attempt at talking me out of the engagement.
Damien would find it both infuriating and interesting.
I strode down the hall, my heels ticking on marble, and made for the events hall. Music played from within, and the speeches hadn’t started yet, but Damien wasn’t at our table. Nor was he at the bar.
“Ugh.” I needed a breath of fresh air.
The doors to the terrace were closed, but they’d been open earlier on,
